


Before and After

by AnneLiza05



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5781886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneLiza05/pseuds/AnneLiza05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 17, young Minerva McGonagall is orphaned after her mother and father are tragically killed. Albus Dumbledore, the dearest friend of the late Francis McGonagall, is given guardianship of the girl. As he supports her through her grief, it becomes evident that fate has decided their cards for them and no matter what they do, they will never be able to fight the rising tide that continues to build for decades to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ward

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything, all the characters were beautifully created by JK Rowling. As it stands, this isn't DH canon but I might use some of the important stuff later on.

**Part One - The Summer**

 

Chapter One - The Ward

 

"Dead? But...how?"

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his face incredulous. The last thing he had expected to wake up to was the news that his dearest, oldest friend was dead.

"I'm sorry, Albus," Headmaster Dippet said sadly, his face full of sympathy. He himself had known the boys since they were children and whilst he may not have known the poor man as well as Albus, but he felt a great sense of shame and injustice, it was always the same when the young died. "Francis and his wife were attacked when the left the muggle opera... you know that he loved the opera." 

"Attacked by who?" 

Dippet shrugged. "Who can be sure? It seems it was one of Grindelwald's men, though why he should choose Francis of all people..." 

Albus wasn't listening anymore. Of course Gellert had targeted Francis. Francis had been the one who had made Albus come to his senses, he had been the wedge in between Albus and Gellert. If Francis hadn't of gotten involved, Albus wasn't sure if he'd of left Gellert and all their plans behind. He shivered slightly, what kind of man would he have become without Francis? It seemed that he owed Francis everything and a deep sense of regret washed over him as he realised that he would never get the chance to thank him or to try to repay his debt.  "Both of them," Albus muttered, shaking his head. "What a waste." 

"Indeed," Armando answered solemnly. His brow knitted in anxiety as he caught Albus's eyes. "There's more, Albus. It seems that Francis left a will regarding his daughter."

"Francis was always a wise and cautious man," Albus said fondly. "I'm glad that he thought of the girl."

Armando raised his brows. "It concerns you. Francis has made you the guardian of the girl. Whats more, you're going to have to tell her what happened. She has yet to be informed."   

 

**************************************************************************************************************************  

 

Minerva McGonagall bit her lip in confusion as she read and re read the same passage again. She had been told that it would be complicated work but usually she digested everything she read first time but this, a ancient text on the use of charms as defence, was a difficult piece. For a moment it had her stomped, until she sighed with annoyance, rolled her bright green eyes and began to read the text against. Thankfully, she had the ability to phase out the world around her when she wanted to really concentrate and within moments, the entire library, books and people included, were gone from her mind and all she could see was the carefully crafted letters before her. Finally, the words began to make sense, their descriptions forming pictures in her mind until she could imagine the coming of the French army in Normandy and the little crowd of peasants repelling them with the yellow glow of a defence charm. With a satisfied smile, she slammed the book shut, feeling the world around her come back to her, and gasped when she felt a presence next to her. 

"Tom!" She exclaimed. "You really shouldn't creep up on me like that, not when I'm reading." 

Tom Riddle smiled, his pale lips stretching into a half-smile, half-sneer. Minerva suppressed a shiver; it always made her slightly uncomfortable when Tom smiled at her - it was as if he was mocking her and his black eyes always glinting with malice. She had always tried her hardest with him since she'd met him on the train and something within her had told her that he was an unhappy boy who might need a friend. That had been true for a couple of years but when they had reached their third year Tom had found his place within his house and had acquired a band of followers, all of whom were not to Minerva's taste. To be fair to him, Tom had not forgotten Minerva for his new friends but something definitely changed between them in their third year. Their interests changed, their beliefs and morals and now, though Minerva felt guilty for admitting it, it was hard work to keep up the friendship. Truth be told, Minerva had spent the last year wondering if it were really worth it, theirs was hardly a friendship that would last past their school years. 

He took a seat opposite her, his eyes never leaving her face. "I forgot that you wouldn't be able to see me," he said, though they both knew that was't true. Tom never forgot anything about anyone that might prove to be a weapon against them one day. 

"Yes, well, just remember next time," she began to pile the books up. "I'm on duty tonight, Tom, so I've got to-" 

"Oh, Minerva, you always have to go somewhere when I want to talk to you," he held onto her wrist a little tighter than was comfortable. "I hardly see you anymore." 

Minerva sighed. "I'm always busy, Tom. I have quidditch practice three times a week, extra classes, homework, revision, prefect duties - I just don't have the time."

"You never do anymore," Tom hissed and Minerva wondered how words that could be full of sadness and longing could sound so cruel and harsh. 

"I have to go," she said and quickly left, lugging the three heavy books under her arm. 

She felt a great sense of relief as she left the library and found herself in the dark corridor. The fires had yet to be lit, making the air welcoming cool. She leaned against the stone wall, shuffling slightly as some of the uneven stone cut into her back. She let the book drop with a low thud and closed her eyes, hoping that Tom wouldn't see her here. She always felt like she couldn't breath properly when he was about, as if he sucked the air from around her and she always left him with the feeling of finally being able to catch her breathe after being suffocated. She wasn't sure why she felt like that, it had never been like that in the beginning but recently something had happened to Tom - the damage that had made him an introverted boy was now manifesting itself in a different way, creating a cunning, sneaking young man who felt that he was owed obedience. He'd changed from the sickly, gaunt boy with dark, badly cut hair to a tall, self-assured figure, with a sharp smile, fashionably parted hair and dark, alluring eyes. Girls loved him, though Minerva didn't know why, she had tried many times to see something attractive in him, just to see if she could see what the fuss what about but she had failed to see anything. She sometimes found that she wished for the old boy back, the boy who she did genuinely call her friend. 

She wondered if he thought her much changed. She had gone from an awkwardly long limbed child to a gracefully tall girl, with high cheek bones and striking green eyes. She might have altered in looks over the years but she hadn't changed in herself - she was still studious, conscientious and, she hoped, kind. Above all things she hoped to be kind - she might be possessed of a wicked temper that she struggled to control but she hoped that when it mattered, she was capable of kindness. Perhaps she hadn't changed as much as Tom but she concluded that she would rather stay the same than change for the worse. She wondered if Tom knew that he had altered so dramatically, she wondered if he realised that he was becoming darker, less forgiving and patient. What worried her most was the thought that he enjoyed the young man he was becoming - she wouldn't put it past him and without shame thrown into the mix, Tom might one day be dangerous. 

She opened her eyes and was shocked to find Professor Dumbledore making his way towards her. More shocking was the peculiar look on his face, a nervousness that Minerva had never seen in him before. He smiled weakly as he caught her eye and shuffled slightly when he stopped in front of her. Minerva felt her heart thud a little louder and her breath hitch at the uneasiness she suddenly felt, it was radiating off of him. She had never seen him so unsure of himself and when he refused to catch her eye, she felt the bile rise in her throat. 

"Professor, there must be something wrong for you to seek me out at this hour," she said shakily, wishing for him to ease her. She felt her blood run cold and as he stalled, she had to fight the urge to grab him at the shoulders and shake him until he regained himself. 

"My dear, you must forgive me," he started slowly, looking down at the ground. "You see, I have been given the heaviest of tasks and I do not know how to carry it out. Would you prefer to sit?" 

Minerva shook her head. "No, Professor but you must tell me right now, you're frightening me." 

Sadness, deep and grey, swept across his face, dulling his bright blue eyes. "I am so deeply sorry, Miss Mcgonagall but I must tell you that your mother and father have, you see they have-" 

Minerva touched his arm gently to stop him, to put him out of his misery. "You needn't go on, Professor, I... I understand," she nodded, eyes wide and face suddenly deathly pale. She sighed deeply, pursing her mouth to stop any sound escaping. She was aware that her body was trembling but she could hardly feel it as she looked past Dumbledore, at the narrow dark corridor before him and stared at the darkness at the end. She could hear her mother as she reprimanded her for her rudeness at not thanking her Professor and her mouth twitched into a slight smile. Hattie McGonagall had always striven to have the most polite, best mannered daughter possible and that had always been at the forefront of her mind. As her melodic voice echoed around her head, Minerva said, "Thank you, Professor," and she continued to look at the end of the tunnel. 

She wished that it really were a tunnel, she should like to be shrouded in darkness at this moment, so that she could't see her own hand in front of her face, so that she would not have to endure the pitiful eyes that would follow her for the next few months. She wanted to be invisible, to melt into the stone and become a part of the castle, never changing, ever in the same state, unable to feel or understand. She shook her head at herself, there was no point wishing for anything, especially something as stupid as becoming a part of the stone. Whimsical fancies were not going to help her, not now, not ever and despite her father having told her for the whole of her life to "dream, Minerva, dream and dream. Then make is a reality and hold onto it," she realised that that was a fools game. She needed to get her head away from the past, away from the darkness and think about her situation now, about how she was going to get on with her life. 

She turned her head to look at Dumbledore, who stood with a knitted brow and concern written all over his face. She smiled sadly. "Don't expect tears, Professor. I know that they should come but they won't."

"You are just in shock," he said with a firm nod. 

"Perhaps... of perhaps I already know that tears are not going to bring them back," her voice cracked slightly. "But you mustn't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I appreciate you coming to tell me, I can understand how difficult it must have been," she bowed her head slightly and turned to leave. She felt the overwhelming need to be alone. 

"Please, wait a moment," Professor Dumbledore said, grabbing her arm gently. "I have something else I must tell you. Although you will hate my saying it, according to Ministry Law, you are not an adult until you reach the age of eighteen. I know that the trace is taken a year earlier, but our esteemed Minister for Magic believes that you cannot be classed as an adult until you become eighteen. As a result, and please forgive my patronising you, you will be required to live with your appointed guardian until October, then you may do as you please." 

Minerva was silent as relatives faces swam around her head. Her grandmother had died two years ago and her father's mother had died long before Minerva was born. She had an aunt, Aunt Jeanie, her mother's sister but she had integrated into the Muggle world when she'd married a Muggle. Now, Aunt Jeanie had twelve children and Minerva was sure that she wouldn't accept the burden of a niece. There was no one else, it had always been the three of them. "I don't have any family," she admitted quietly and was shocked to find that that thought brought on a wave of tears, rather than being told that her parents were dead. "I don't know who I could go to."

"Your father named a guardian in his will," Professor Dumbledore continued to explain. "As you are aware, Francis and I have been good friends for many years. You will come to live with my wife and I, over the Summer at least." 

"You?" Minerva said, shocked. "I'm to come and live with you?" 

"Yes," he nodded. "I understand that you may think yourself old enough to make your own decisions but I ask you to accept this, only for a few months and then you may do as you wish." 

"And your wife knows about this arrangement?" 

"Not yet, I haven't had the chance to write yet...I thought it best to tell you first." 

"Well, I thank you again, Professor, it was a heavy load to carry and I hope that you feel lighter for delivering the news," she bowed her head and this time walked away, her face wet with tears. 

 


	2. Mrs Dumbledore

Dumbledore House was as unremarkable as any house, much to Minerva's surprise. It was a redbrick, two story building, with white sashed windows and a shining black front door. It sat on it's own, surrounded by a large, daisy scattered meadow, with a high neatly trimmed hedge circulating the house. A gravel pathway lead to the front door, lined with rosebushes sporting flowers of every colour. Minerva wasn't sure what she had been expecting as she stood outside the gate, a suitcase in each hand, but she hadn't been expecting such a normal looking house. Perhaps she had imagined turrets and dark wood, a worn front porch but there was nothing of the sort. Everything was well kept, lovingly maintained and Minerva concluded that Mrs Dumbledore must spend her time on making the house a beautiful building. 

She felt heavy as she opened the gate and made her way up the path. She had no idea what she should expect - she might have known the Professor for nearly seven years but she had only ever known him as a Professor, it was quite a different thing to enter his home and live with him. Of course she had known that her father was great friends with her Professor but she hadn't known quite how highly Francis held him. She had never expected that she would be made Professor Dumbledore's ward. What's more, she wouldn't just have to get used to living with her Professor but also living with his wife. She had no idea what she was like, though surely she would be kind and extraordinary like her husband. Professor Dumbledore had never mentioned her but then, why would he when she was a part of his private life and Minerva just a student. She was a little disappointed to have that confirmed, for she had thought herself to be more than a student rather a friend but that was her own stupid notion, she should have known that Professor Dumbledore was a professional man and was simply being kind. 

Minerva knocked on the door, heart in her throat and for a moment she wished were anywhere but here. She could hear footsteps behind the door and she felt her breath grow heavier with anticipation - she was an outsider, pushing herself into these people's lives and she hated that. She was irritated with the Ministry for putting her into such a situation but had sense enough to know that she shouldn't blame her hosts. Or her guardians, as they were now. It was ridiculous. She was seventeen, soon to be eighteen, what did she need a guardian for? She was old enough to spend the summer in her parents home, after all, she was more than capable to casting guard and warding spells, so why shouldn't she be able to do as she pleased? It seemed pointless that three lives should be turned upside down when only one should have to suffer. 

She felt her stomach drop as the door opened and she forced a shakey, grateful smile. Professor Dumbledore beamed at her as he opened the door and to Minerva's surprise, it made her feel at ease. 

"Come in," he said, ushering her into a pale papered entrance hall. "Let me take your bags," he stooped down and took them before she could protest, setting them down before a white washed staircase. 

Minerva stood awkwardly in the middle of the entrance hall. A rag rug covered the dark wood floor and an arch on either side of her lead into two large, square rooms. From what Minerva could see, one was a study with a bookcase lining the back wall, worn leather armchairs arranged around a large fire place and a small desk set before the window, scattered with parchment. She knew instantly that this was the Professor's room; the desk was a mess, the books unorganised and crammed into shelves. The other room, to her right, was a bright and airy pale pink sitting room with finely upholstered chairs and sofas, each arranged neatly around a white marble mantle piece. Lamps, their shades decorated with tassels, stood in the corners, their high, brass stems polished to shine. So far, everything about from the study was furnished by someone with a dainty taste, who liked flowers and tassels and lace. Minerva's mother hadn't been like that, she had preferred soft leather chairs, dark woods and creams rugs. 

"You have a lovely home," Minerva said at the thought of her mother. 'Compliments go a long way, Minerva,' she always said. 

Professor Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Thank you, but I can take none of the credit. My wife is the decorator here."

"And good job too," Mrs Dumbledore stood in the archway with a smile. "Because you have no taste, do you, Albus?" 

Minerva smiled shyly at the small, petite woman. She matched her own tastes for she was a dainty woman, with little birdlike features and softly blonde hair which she arranged at the back of her neck. Her eyes, brown and velvet, seemed sincere to Minerva, as if she could read a person with great ease. She wore lilac skirts with an embroidered blouse, her shoulders small, her neck long. She was an elegant lady, Minerva could tell from the way she stood, the way she held her shoulders and head. Whilst not striking, she had the sort of face that could be looked at in a different way a hundred times, her features smooth and clear, and she was much like her husband, in that she didn't look as old as she should, for she must be of a greater age than what she looked to be. 

She held out her hand to Minerva but, as Minerva took it to shake it, Mrs Dumbledore instead squeezed it tightly. "Welcome, Minerva," she said, those sincere eyes telling Minerva that she meant it. "I'm sorry for the circumstances but I'm glad you have somewhere to be. I hope that you will feel at home here, I want to do everything I can to make you feel so." 

Minerva was surprised by the lump that came in her throat. Her hand was still being squeezed gently, she could feel the depth of Mrs Dumbledore's sympathy. It was a great relief to really feel welcome, no doubt Mrs Dumbledore was as private a person as her husband was, and Minerva had worried that she might resent a stranger coming into her home. It seemed that Minerva had assumed incorrectly, for the woman before her held a sweet, easy smile. "Thank you," Minerva said thickly. "I don't want to be any trouble." 

Mrs Dumbledore laughed lightly. "You could never be any trouble!" She finally let go of Minerva's hand. "My husband is the one who is the trouble maker!" 

Minerva smiled shyly. She couldn't imagine Professor Dumbledore being a trouble for anyone. He was always so polite, so gentlemanly. Of course he enjoyed a joke, he could be light and jovial when the occasion called for it, but he was wise, collected and kind. "I doubt it, Mrs Dumbledore," she said quietly. 

"Oh, my dear, none of that! Emmeline, always Emmeline," she said, rubbing the top of Minerva's arm. "And your Professor is Albus, whilst you are here, at least." 

"Yes," Albus said awkwardly. "But please, I must be Professor when we are back at school-"

"Of course!" Minerva explained. "I haven't told many people about the death of my parents or this situation. I like to keep my affairs to myself." 

Emmeline nodded. "I understand. Now, would you like some tea?" 

 

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************

To her surprise, Minerva found that she rather liked Emmeline Dumbledore. 

Emmeline was a kind woman, thoughtful and possessed of the rare quality of knowing exactly what Minerva needed at any given moment. She was sociable, ready with a story to suit the mood, whether it be funny, insightful or wise, but she knew when her social abilities were not needed. Should Minerva want a quiet moment by herself, Emmeline didn't need to ask her, she simply slipped from the room and left Minerva to herself, something which she was grateful for. Minerva had been worried that the Dumbledore's might want to force her out of her shell, to continually jolly her up so that she would not have time to think. Thankfully, Emmeline never presumed to treat her like a child and instead understood that whilst Minerva didn't want to continually force a smile and pretend to be happy, she needed moments of misery, moments when she needed the weight of her loss and grief to overcome her. It was a great relief to know that she didn't have pretend to be well all of the time, that her lack of enthusiasm some days would not be taken as ingratitude. 

Minerva's fondness for Emmeline did not come from gratitude alone. She was an extremely interesting woman, funny and loving. Minerva wondered why the house wasn't filled with children and grand children for Emmeline seemed to be a maternal figure, her whole being ready to give. She seemed to have a dedication towards everyone under her roof, for Albus and now, for Minerva. No request was too much for the elegant woman, who flew with light steps through the house, who never seemed to tire or complain. She was quite remarkable, forever busy but never weary, very much of a generation of women who could work wonders and still give more. 

Minerva wondered why Dumbledore had kept her such a secret. She could understand that he wanted to keep his privacy and she didn't blame him for not telling the whole student populace but he had never mentioned Emmeline to anyone. Well, she didn't know that for a fact of course, perhaps the staff did know...she supposed that he most probably had mentioned his wife to them. Mrs Dumbledore was most probably not a secret it was just that Minerva was a student. Just a student, not a member of staff or a friend or anything else, she was Miss McGonagall and she found that the realisation brought disappointment. She hadn't such a high estimation of herself that she believed that she should be seen by all as more than a Hogwarts student but she would have liked for Dumbledore to regard her as more, even if it were awful of her to want it. She didn't mean that he saw her as the daughter of his dearest friend either, she wanted him to see her as her, Minerva, not Miss McGonagall hidden behind school robes but Minerva, determined, impatient, intelligent Minerva. 

She had felt guilty about it for months but now, having met Emmeline and growing to like her so much, Minerva felt even worse. To be fair, before she had come here she had pictured Dumbledore as alone. She supposed that had first made her notice him as more than a Professor, the thought of him always being alone. It hadn't seemed fair that such a good and kind man was left alone and Minerva had felt the injustice of that quite keenly. She had only been fifteen at the time, so looking back it was a childish notion to take but apparently, it was stuck and even now, two years later, Minerva felt the same. She didn't necessarily feel bad for him because he was alone, Minerva had learned that some people chose to be alone because they preferred their own company (Minerva had recently become one of these people) but she still felt that it was unjustified that nobody wanted to spend time with him. She had never met a more interesting person, she could listen to him talk for hours without even thinking about boredom, and he was kind and funny. Nobody could make her laugh like he could, there was just something about him, his humour really made her smile. 

Did she love him? She had thought about it, many a time, but she had a very limited knowledge but love and the like. She understood the basic principles of it - the suitability, the attraction, the willing to give up one's life - and she weighed those ideas up against what she felt and came to the conclusion that she didn't love him but simply wanted to spend time with him, to become a part of his life. They were not suited on so many grounds; he being the professor, she the student; he was older and wiser, whilst she hadn't even turned eighteen yet, she would simply bore him. She thought him a nice looking man but there wasn't an all consuming attraction, there never had been for anyone. Minerva doubted that she would ever feel like that about anyone, she disliked the idea of losing control of oneself so completely that one was rendered completely senseless. That was not something that Minerva would ever aim for. 

The assurance that Minerva was not in love did soothe her conscience a little. At least she wasn't scheming behind Emmeline's back, though Minerva doubted that she ever would anyway. She was not that kind of person and besides, she could never do such a thing to Emmeline and live with herself. It was Emmeline who had pulled Minerva from the brink of despair - Minerva had been so close to just letting herself fall but Emmeline wouldn't have it. She owed everything to her Professor's wife and the last thing Minerva ever wanted to do was hurt the woman who had so openly taken her into her heart. It was Emmeline who Minerva saw most often, Dumbledore was barely at home and only enquired after Minerva's well-being when he happened to be at dinner. 

Even if Minerva did feel a little love for Dumbledore, it was his wife who was there for her. She had no intention of throwing Emmeline's kindness back in her face simply because Minerva couldn't stop thinking about her professor. She hadn't admitted it to herself before but she surrendered and accepted that yes, she did think about him most of the time. 

But that didn't mean that she loved him. 


	3. Tom

It was a grey day, for Minerva at least. Outside, the sun shone brilliantly, the sky bright blue and cloudless for miles; but Minerva was having trouble to see anything but shadows and darkness. She hadn't had such a day in several weeks and the lack of them had made her believe that she might be coming out of the other side but she had been horribly wrong. After a dreamless, fitful sleep she had woken to the surpressing feeling of deep grief. She felt lonely and hadn't yet surfaced from her room, though she knew that lunch was approaching. 

She dressed of course, she couldn't abide not being tidy and presentable but she spent the morning curled up on the windowsill, playing with the hem of her dark blue dress. She felt as if she was back at the beginning, as if the news had just been broken to her and she was stuck in a void, alone and useless. Stupidly, she still half expected them to come back, to smile at her and take her home. She desperately wanted to feel her mother's soft palm on her cheek, or have her father squeeze her shoulder. Like her, her parents had never been tactile but they had always shown that they loved her completely and Minerva had never needed actions to know that. Her father's click of his tongue or her mother's wide, soft eyes that glowed at her, were all that she needed to know that she was loved. 

Who was there now to love her? And who could she love in return? She felt as if she were the only person left in the world. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to be angry that she had been left, how could they leave her behind, why hadn't they been more careful? But she knew that doing so would not be justified, they would never have left her by choice. She felt completely useless that she couldn't save them and she could do nothing to avenge them. She was trapped in the beurocracy of her world- by the time she would be able to legally take her revenge, the war with their killers would be over. It would take decades to reach a level in the Ministry which would give her the power to slaughter those who had killed her family and by then it would be finished with, the world would have moved on. If she were a careless, spontaneous person, she might have taken the matter into her own hands for she had talent enough to do so but then she would only be thrown into Azkaban and her parents would never want that for her. Even she was not careless enough to think that to avenge their death through improper channels would make them proud of her. 

Her melancholy thoughts were disturbed by a light tap on her door. She quickly jumped from the window sill, hoping that she hadn't left any sort of mark and cried out: "Yes? You can come in," as she smoothed her dark skirts. She prayed that her voice gave away none of the sadness that she felt for she would be mortified to be caught in her misery. Mrs Dumbledore was sensitive to Minerva's moods but it had been three weeks now and she was terrfied that her sadness now, after all of this time, would be miscontrued as ingratitude, especially if it was Professor Dumbledore on the other side of the door - she still hadn't quite worked out how he felt about the whole situation. He was a very reserved man, even in his own home and Minerva had the feeling that he wasn't just reserved with her but his wife as well. 

It was, in fact, Professor Dumbledore that entered with a smile. "I'm sorry to intrude, Miss-Minerva," he said quietly. "I wanted to speak with you, if you could spare me your time."

Minerva raised her brows. They both knew that she had all the time in the world, he was simply being polite. "Of course, Professor. Come in, it is your house afterall. I apologise for missing breakfast, I wasn't dressed in time-"

"You needn't explain yourself to me. I prefer my own company most of the time. And this is your room, my dear, I've told you that. You should feel free to make it so." His blue eyes scanned the room, the pretty light room that was completely in order. Minerva simply slept in the bed and kept her clothes in the wardrobe, she didn't live in it but he wished that she would. He had given it to her gladly and he wanted her to be at home in it, even if she never saw the rest of the house as home. Though she would be free in a manner of weeks, he didn't want her to think that she had to live on her own when the time came. It would be better for her to be with people but he wasn't going to voice that - he hoped that she came to the realisation on her own. 

"I know," Minerva replied.She lowered herself elegently into the wicker seat that sat under the window. "I'm quite at home, don't worry." 

"Good," he smiled, though they both knew that she was lying. "I have your post," he reached into the pocket of his green robes and pulled out a few envelopes. "From your friends, I suppose." 

He reached out and she took them, scanning the handwriting each of the thick evelopes. One was from Poppy, her writing large and round, and the other - she furrowed her brow. The long, thin writing sprawled across the whole space. "Tom," she said. "How does he know where I am?" 

"I've had all the post from your parents house directed here," Dumbledore explained. He coughed awkwardly and stared at his hands. "My dear," he began slowly, "I cannot tell you to whom you should link yourself with, I'm sure you are old enough to decide that for yourself, and as I've said, you must feel at home here so any friends you may want to see are always welcome but Mr Riddle...I cannot-"

"You needn't worry, Professor," Minerva said quickly. "I am perplexed as to why he has sent me anything at all."

He nodded slowly. "You and I are linked now, my dear, through these most unfortunate circumstances so I feel that you must be told some things. I do not trust Tom Riddle and I don't think you should either." 

Minerva had torn open the letter as he spoke and scanned it quickly. "He wants to meet me. To apologise."

"For what?" 

"The night you told me...well that night, I had been in the library and he disturbed me. I rather lost my temper with him-"

Dumbledore laughed outloud. "Well, he shouldn't be surprised! I've been at the wrong end of your temper often enough to know that it's a force to be reckoned with!"

Minerva blushed. "Oh, you make me out to be such a gargoyle! I can't help myself, I just get so frustrated!"

"I know, my dear, your mother was very much the same, or so your father told me," he said. "I don't think it a bad trait but a lovely one." 

Minerva smiled, her heart pounding as heavy as a stone in her chest. For him to describe anything about her as lovely was enough to make her flitter like a childish schoolgirl. Her arms and legs tingled, her very blood in fact, but she kept her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap. She would never give anything away, she was sure of it and soon, the utterly ridiculous feelings of love would melt away. Along with her grief, Minerva was troubled by these feelings. She had felt it at school but somehow it had been easier to deny them because there he was a professor and she a student, no doubt a lot of students developed whimsical feelings for their professors at some point but here - here he was Albus, though she still struggled to say the name, Albus in his own home, living as a person, a relatable person. It made it harder to bury her feelings and her shame at them. She could deal with her foolishness but her shame, her shame ran too close to the surface. How could she be so unkind and cruel to her hostess, the dear Emmeline Dumbledore who had done nothing but welcome this orphan into her home and treat her as her own daughter. If Muggles were to be believed and there was a God who dished out the final judgement, Minerva was bound for hell. 

"Will you meet him?" Albus broke her thoughtful solitude. 

"Oh," Minerva stuffed the letter back into the envelope. "I'm not sure. What do you think I should do?" 

"Minerva, it isn't for me to tell you what you should and should not do."

"I'll rephrase then," Minerva smiled. "What would you do if you were me?" 

Albus pursed his lips pensively and tapped his foot. "Mr Riddle, when I first met him, was a very confused and misunderstood boy. He felt abandoned, though of course he would never admit it, and I think at that tender age, he had a choice between two paths. I'm afraid he may have taken the darker one, though I cannot confirm just yet. I know that you were once good friends with him - what happened?" 

Minerva shrugged. "He was such a lonely boy, I suppose I felt sorry for him but now... he has an awful group of friends and he seems to rule them. He enjoys cruelty, not obscene cruelty for the moment, but he seems to relish in others pain and discomfort. I cannot be a part of that and I cannot like somebody like that. Truth be told, I think he may feel more than friendship for me - do not think me vain, professor, I would not suggest it if I did not think there might be some truth in it. I do not think myself anything special or remarkable, you understand, I'm just letting you know what I think." 

"I would never think you vein," Albus said. "And I can easily understand Tom's feelings, despite what you say, you are quite remarkable." 

Minerva had to force herself to keep her mouth from falling open. Her jaw ached with the effort. He had never said such a thing and as the words left his mouth, her heart sang. She quickly composed herself, he was simply being polite and she was reading too much into it. 

"I understand your misgivings about him," Albus continued, seemingly unphased by his last remark but on the inside he was screaming at himself. Why did he say such a thing? It was completely inappropriate and he had overstepped a very boldly printed line. He decided that he should gloss over it, carry on as if it had meant nothing to him to have said it. "He is a very wounded boy and I think that is going to ruin him. To put it bluntly, my dear, I do not trust him and I don't think you should either. If he does feel anything more than friendship for you, he will not be dignified in defeat. He isn't used to be told 'no' you see, not by his friends or his professors. He will not take you saying no to him very lightly." 

Minerva sighed, grimacing as she did. "Part of me feels like I should meet him, just to be kind and fair but another... I told him, on that day in the library, where I stand. I do not want to be a part of his circle and I do not want to be... well anything but his friend." 

"Does he know about your mother and father?" 

"No," she shook her head. "I didn't even tell Poppy. I might when we return to school but I want to be left alone for now." 

"Understandable. If you do not wish to meet him, simply write back and say you are away on a holiday. There's no harm in writing to him, you shouldn't be rude and ignore him if you do not want to be." 

 

*************************************************************************************************

 

Despite Dumbledore's words of warning, Minerva did decide to meet Tom. She had laboured over the decision for three days, torn by memories of old friendship and slight disgust. There must have been something about him, when they were young and frightened on the great steam train, headed for a stone castle which seemed as if it would never be home. She had been drawn to him because of his pale, anxious expression and because of his obvious comfort at being alone. Minerva understood that feeling - she felt as if she were destined (if such a thing existed) to be an only child, for she revelled in her own company. Their meeting had been awkward, the usual kind of introduction that involved Minerva but soon he was listening to every word she said, his dark eyes fixed on her with an almost uncomfortable intensity.

She wondered if she should have realised then - such an intense person was bound to be troubled - but feelings of...pity, she supposed, made her ignore her senses. She wanted to try to be a good friend to him, it had felt wrong not to make the effort, even when Poppy had voiced her distaste. If Minerva was anything, she was fiercely loyal and her loyalty bound her to keep up her friendship with Tom despite her growing concerns. However, the night in the library had confirmed Minerva's misgivings and she had decided that she no longer felt the need to be loyal to the boy who, she felt, would make a dangerous enemy in years to come. 

But, Minerva had been his friend for nearly seven years and so she felt that it only be right that she have a frank conversation with him. To be fair, she had tried to write to him but her words seemed so mundane and guilt filled her. It was frustrating trying to put her feelings and reasoning into words and so she had decided that it was best to meet him, to get the whole thing over with. 

She decided on Hogsmeade, a neutral ground. She told the Dumbledore's that she was meeting Poppy, a lie which made her feel guilty but a lie which was needed. She was worried that Professor Dumbledore might form a judgement on her actions and the thought of him judging her upset her a little. She didn't want the Dumbledore's to think that she was taking their hospitality and kindness for granted and so, as she pulled on a dark green cloak, she left the house both nervous and guilty. 

Tom was already there when she arrived outside the tea shop. He leant against the wall, looking expectantly up and down the lanes and smiled at her when he saw her. Minerva's mouth went a little dry as she offered him a shaky smile and she was glad when he spoke first for she was at a loss of what to say. 

"I was getting worried when I hadn't heard from you. I tried coming to your home but it was-"

"You went to my house?" Minerva cried, horrified. 

"Yes. As I said, I was worried." 

"If that is supposed to make me feel better about it hasn't worked," Minerva barked. "You cannot invade my privacy and go to my residence just because I hadn't written back to you!" 

"How could I invade your privacy? You weren't there." 

Minerva pursed her mouth, her lips turned white. She could feel her temper rising and she had been hoping to avoid a screaming match. "That is not the point-" 

"Where are you staying this summer?" 

"We are staying with family." 

"We?" 

"My parents and I," she replied quickly, though this new lie hurt the most. If only it were true! 

"Minerva, I know what happened to them." 

Her eyes grew wide. "How do you-" 

He held up a hand. "I found out. I have my ways... I'm sorry for your loss, Minerva. I, of all people, know the loneliness of being an orphan." 

"I'm not an orphan!" Minerva protested, though of course she knew how ridiculous she was being. How dare he refer to her as such when she had not even processed the loss of her parents? She still felt as if she was going to see them in a little while, perhaps a few days time and she was not ready to let that feeling go. 

Tom smirked a little. "Don't get mad. I was just saying that I understand how you feel. We two are the only people who now understand each other completely." 

"But I don't understand you, Tom. You know that. I do not agree with your actions or your beliefs, I do not condone your treatment of certain individuals."

"But Minerva was are the same-" 

"Please!" Minerva hissed. "Do not say that. I cannot be the same as you," she sighed. She hadn't been prepared to have to have this conversation so early on in their meeting, she had been hoping to build up to it. "Look, I came here to tell you that while I am flattered by your words in your letter, I can never be what you want me to be. In fact, I cannot call you my friend any longer ." 

"Because of what I think?" Tom looked genuinely shocked. "Minerva, I thought that we could... well embark on a relationship. We are two very intelligent, very powerful people. We can have anything we wanted, we could build a whole empire."

"I don't want that nor have I ever given the impression that such things appeal to me," Minerva replied. "And even if I did, I do not harbour those kinds of feelings for you. I never could." 

"But I love you." 

Minerva rolled her eyes. "You do not." 

"I do." 

"Then I'm sorry I cannot return the feelings," Minerva said impatiently. " I must go, Tom. Please do not write to me." 

As she turned to leave, he grabbed hold of her wrist. "You can't do this, Minerva. I want to be with you. I've tried to be nice, I tried to show you that I care. You have to say yes, it's the only way."

She shook her head. "No. Leave me alone, Tom. Please." She wrenched her wrist free and marched away, ensuring that she apparated far from sight out of fear that he might find a way to follow her. 

It had been a mistake to meet him. She should have listened to Professor Dumbledore. 


End file.
